Something Only Francesco Sees
by Netbug009
Summary: Crime never leaves the world of racing alone, and the MI6 never leaves crime alone. But Francesco Bernoulli has bigger problems like finishing off another winning season, preparing his pit crew for the new World Grand Prix, and dealing with an extremely annoying critic. Francesco/OC. Some M/H, L/S.
1. Two Adventures

(This fic does _not_ have spoilers for Cars 3. It can take place whenever after Cars 2.)

A/N: What's up, Cars fandom? Last you guys saw me, I'd put the first chapter of this exact fic up and then vanished for a while. With the new movie out, I've decided to get back to writing this!

The opening IS different, there's been a lot of reworking, so please don't skip this first chapter if you already read the first chapter of the previous version.

* * *

 **Something Only Francesco Sees  
By Netbug009**

 **Chapter 1  
Two Adventures**

If Francesco loved anything almost as much as he loved racing, it was the way the press raced to meet him afterward. The cameras flashed in his eyes blindingly and the chatter was too loud to comprehend – it all overtook his senses in the most magnificent way possible, removing him from reality and placing him ten meters in the air. Twenty if he won. And today – like most other days – Francesco hadn't just won. No, Francesco had absolutely _dominated_ the raceway. It was the final race of the season, and he could have all but not shown up and still become champion with how high he was in the standings.

But no, to be a _real_ Champion, Francesco had to indeed show up and destroy his competition one last time, as he heard himself telling the press through the euphoric haze of flash bulbs and victory.

"I know! I'm the champion again! Sometimes, Francesco even amazes himself, if you can believe that!" The Italian continued to praise himself in both English and Italian, in no rush to get away from the press despite his pit crew trying to help him do so. "Maybe if the other race cars train harder, Francesco will have a challenge next year! Wouldn't that be exciting, no?"

"Francesco! Over here!" A reporter's microphone shoved its way past the others, although its owner could barely be seen within the crowd. "What do you think of the competition slated for the Neo World Grand Prix?"

"Oh, that _does_ worry me. After all…" Francesco sighed dramatically, "Lightning McQueen won't be participating, so I have no idea who will be placing second to me in all the races!" The surge of flashes told Francesco his witty response had landed well, as always. He chuckled as his pit crew finally pried him out of the press area for his post-race checkup.

"You shouldn't indulge them so much," his crew chief, Giuseppe Motorosi, scolded lightly, albeit clearly amused himself. Giuseppe casually looked Francesco over on the way to their team's garage. "All the lights and stress is bad for your polish."

"Well, it's a good thing Francesco has the best pit crew to keep his polish up, no?" Francesco smiled at his old friend.

"Don't even joke. It's been a long season, you know. And there's still exhibitions and this New Grand World Racing thing." Giuseppe sighed. "Perhaps I am getting too old for this."

The duo drove into the team's garage. "Then hire some extra hands! I have no problem with that!" Francesco punched Giuseppe's tire with his own right before the rest of the pit crew could swarm him, bickering at him to hold still or risk his good looks. "Come on, you worry too much!" Francesco raised his voice to address the whole crew. "Tonight, we celebrate with good food, good oil, and a great team!"

The pit crew cheered, a couple of tools flying through the air. Francesco laughed heartily. "And then we crush opponents from around the world! Yes, it's so exciting! Can you imagine a life more exciting than that of Francesco?"

* * *

"Finn? Finn, can you hear me? I'm being followed."

At 0315 hours Central European Summer Time, in an "abandoned" warehouse not far from the Élorn River, all Shell broke loose.

While the dim lighting and the maze of shipping containers had helped the secret agents remain undetected for almost an hour, there was only so long the partners could hide and observe when their mission was to free a hostage. Even against such amateurs - _cheap_ amateurs, who should have coordinated a better security system than simple carpower - it would have taken a much lower IQ than required to even put together a ransom message to not keep the prisoner well-guarded. Sure enough, alarms started blaring and red light filled the building when a guard spotted the infamous Holley Shiftwell.

It had been about two years since Holley was reassigned from C.H.R.O.M.E.'s technical department to the field at the request of none less than the British Intelligence's finest agent, but while McMissile's insistence on the rookie becoming his partner had shortened her transfer time to less than a day, she still felt more like Finn's trainee than his equal when it came to stealth and combat. What _did_ make her an asset, however, was her advanced computing savvy. Even as the young spy raced through the halls to avoid getting shot until she could regroup with Finn, Holley was scanning every shipping container she passed, looking for differences of construction, heat radiating from inside... anything that could set it apart as a rudimentary cell. She was regretting not asking Finn more about the hostage's VIN, model, and other potentially scannable aspects during the briefing. Finn made an effort to tell Holley everything she would need to know for each mission, which in this case had simply been that some French resistance that apparently thought this was still WWII had captured a celebrity, but Finn's older systems meant he could underestimate what Holley's were capable of.

"Finn," she called over the communications channel, as she continued to scan boxes and occasionally use her electric shock system on a resistance member that got too close for comfort, trying to not let her nerves falter in her speech, "I'm being pursued by several assailants. Have you gotten any information on where the hostage might-"

The sound of metal being smashed over and over again echoed through the warehouse.

Holley kept driving as more of a habit in dangerous scenarios than by any rational thought. Her audio receptors scrambled to try and figure out where the chaos – possibly carnage – was coming from, and she kept mental note on the seconds that were passing without a response from her partner. Above scanning each box in an orderly fashion, her priority became losing her pursuers, and she started turning any corner she came across no matter how lost it made her.

"Finn!" Her communications grew frantic. "Finn, come in! Over! If you can respond, please-"

Holley found herself driving into a large, rectangular space in the middle of the warehouse, completely surrounded by shipping containers sans a couple entrances from the maze. She skid to a halt.

She was idling before at least a dozen French automobiles, all different models, all painted with the enemy logo.

All pummeled into submission.

Well, except for one last car Finn was just now tossing aside like a used oil can. He turned to Holley and the ghost of a smirk passed his featured before he pretended she wasn't there. "This is Finn McMissile responding to Holley Shiftwell. Sorry Miss Shiftwell – I was a bit tangled up – over."

Oh, _hardy har har._ She knew than Finn must have been truly caught up to not have responded immediately, but she still didn't appreciate his sense of humor. Especially when they were still looking for...

 _Beepbeepbeep._

...The hostage, who was apparently in the red shipping container a few feet behind a moaning Bugatti Type 101. Holley drove over to the container and made short work of the lock with a precision laser she had been issued about fourteen months ago. Finn hovered behind her with several guns at the ready - in case of a last minute ambush - and Holley cautiously opened the container and drove inside. The only light was leaking in from the rest of the warehouse; Holley activated her headlights at the dimmest setting to avoid startling the poor soul. "Don't worry, we're from the MI6. We've come to rescue-"

The hostage interrupted her well-rehearsed speech with a delighted gasp. "Holley!"

"Ah..." The paint rushed from Holley's face and she switched to her high-beams." _Mater?_ "

She didn't get to react any farther before the truck – far too lively for somebody who had just been in solitary darkness for at least 48 hours - swung his cable and zoomed out of the container, towing the staggered spy behind him and releasing her next to himself and Finn.

"I was wonderin' if you twos was gonna be the ones to rescue me! Well," his eyes diverted from the partners for a moment, "I was mostly wonderin' 'bout if anycar knew where I was to come rescue me in the first place, but when I thought 'bouts getting found I was hopin' it'd be you guys! How ya been?"

Holley just stared at Mater, aghast, her face still pale.

And then she turned to Finn.

" _Mater!_ Mater was captured and you didn't tell me?"

And back to Mater.

"A-are you hurt? Have you gotten any sleep? Have they fed you?"

And back to Finn.

"Mater! _Mater_ was the hostage! How was that _not_ important information in the briefing?"

"Miss Shiftwell," Finn replied calmly, "this is exactly why I kept the hostage's identity under wraps from you. If you had known the situation beforehand, your emotions - and thus you - would have been compromised."

"No I wouldn't have! What makes you so sure of that?"

Finn didn't even justify that question with an answer. A couple seconds later, Holley took recognition of her behavior and the color started to return to her face. Just the red color, to be specific.

Mater picking this moment to close his eyes and snuggle Holley's fender didn't help.

"I'm good. Jus' glad to see you. What's it been now, a month? You get so busy with yer spy stuff, but I know you has fun and help a lotta cars."

 _Having fun?_ Not at the moment. In fact, times like this made Holley question her own sanity. After all, look at her choice in a partner/boss.

And look at her choice in a _fiancé_.

Yet no matter how many times Holley asked herself what her ideal life would be - not counting that _Sir_ Tow Mater was the target of more criminals than she'd prefer - she couldn't find a single thing she would want changed, much less being without the two cars that meant the most to her.

A faint smile fought its way to her bumper. "Yes, it has. Good to see you too."

* * *

Please advise that most of my understanding of racing comes from the films and Wikipedia, so I'm sorry if anything is incorrect. Feel free to let me know if you're an avid racing F1 fan and see a way I dun goofed at any point in this story.

I hope Francesco seems in character. I like the idea of him, despite his arrogance, appreciating certain people in his life, such as his pit team, like how he seemed to appreciate his mother in the film.


	2. Ghita

**A/N:** Reviews are love!

Chapter 2  
Ghita

"I know you've had some sleep, but try to rest on the plane, alright?"

"You got it!"

"And wait for your escort as soon as you land; don't wander about."

"I hear ya!"

"You remember the code phrase for escort identification?"

"…Uh…"

Holley sighed. She wished she could just see Mater home herself, but there was too much work to be done. She ran Mater through the escort process one more time before sending him off towards his gate. The two waved goodbye to one another with warm – sad – smiles and Holley sighed once Mater was safely on his flight home.

Finn didn't say anything. After being partners for so long, he didn't have to. The duo knew one another's insecurities and flaws quite well, and Holley would talk if she needed someone to talk to.

"Mater was in danger because of us, wasn't he?" she stated. She kept staring ahead at the terminal.

"…Perhaps," Finn admitted. "However, he has quite a few high-profile friends, not to mention a knack for getting himself into trouble. I have the feeling he'd wind up in dire straits eventually whether he knew us or not. Regardless," Finn turned to face Holley, "he's lucky to have someone who cares about his welfare so much and would protect him at all costs. If anything, I believe you being around makes him _safer_ in the long run."

Holley didn't seem convinced. "…So, about our mission? We're back on the search for that lost politician, right?"

"Unfortunately, no. Agent… Agent 2nd Gear has taken over the manhunt, regardless of how horrible of an idea that is." Holley was surprised that Finn didn't even try to hide his disapproval. She hadn't met this agent herself, but she already didn't like him from the way he'd somehow managed to get on Finn's bad side, which was normally reserved for no holds barred villains. "We've been instructed to head back to base – HQ thinks the politician might just be the tip of the iceberg."

* * *

"Waiter, order this great pit crew another round, eh?!"

Fracesco's crew cheered and whooped with varying levels of intoxication. The Bumper Skirt Bar and Grille was all but rented out by the racer's extended team; they convened around several tables pushed together under the old yellow lights. All the garage doors and windows were open to let in the light summer breeze and extend the available seating space; sunlight enveloped them. Cars that weren't part of Francesco's party took bragging selfies from their outer tables, which only caused more cars to show up at the hole-in-the-wall. The television playing a news report about a missing smart car politician did nothing to dampen the jovial mood as Francesco celebrated with big drinks, large tips, and hearty laughter.

"…remains missing. Next up, we have a look back at this racing season and an analysis of the final…"

"Shh! _**Quiet!**_ " one of the pit members shouted. "The news is talking about the race!"

"Ah yes!" Francesco smiled and hoped up and down in place, "It's time to hear more about how Francesco did fantastically and see how good he looked on the camera passing the finish line!" He turned to get a better view of the television hanging behind the bar.

But when Francesco noticed the logo of the television network, with the current time stamped under it, his smile disappeared. "… _Wait._ Waitwaitwaitwait _. Please_ do not tell me it is 5:30."

"Is there somewhere you needed to be, Francesco?" Guiseppe asked.

"Nono, it's just… at 5:30 on _this_ channel-"

The television continued into the next segment. "And now, we have this season's final racing commentary with our analyst, Ghita Aryanne."

A deep gold pickup truck with green eyes rolled up next to the regular news commentator and nodded acknowledgingly. Her expression remained neutral the entire time, as if she didn't even realize she was now on live television.

Francesco groaned. Loudly and dramatically. " _ **Uuuuuuuuuugh!**_ Waiter, I will buy everyone in this bar a drink if you'd change the channel to _anything_ else **, per favore!** "

Guiseppe raised an eyebrow. "What has you so upset, amico?"

"This channel is not news or analysis! It's… it's _blasphemy!_ This Ghita Aryanne; all she ever does is picks racers apart, _especially_ me! No matter how great I do, she always has something to complain about! So picky about every! Pointless! Little! _Thing!"_

"Yes, Francesco ran a great race today," Ghita continued on the television, "…however," (Francesco mouthed said "however" mockingly as it came out of Ghita's mouth) "he has gotten a little too used to winning. Look at his turn into the last stretch." A clip of said turn played between the two hosts. "See? _Sloppy_. At that speed he could have careened and lost the match."

"But I _**didn't!**_ " Francesco protested at the television. Several of Francesco's crew members backed away from the racer and glanced at each other warily. A few fans recorded the temper tantrum with their phones. Francesco turned back to Guiseppe and gestured to the television. "See? She acts as if I have no idea what I'm doing! Acts like she knows everything!"

"I told you the same thing about your turn," Guiseppe said.

"Yes, but that is your job! Ghita's job is to _apparently_ be as annoying as possible and tell us all things we already know while acting smug about it. **Waiter, I beg you again, change the channel!** Anything will do! Check the American sports coverage – is Lightning McQueen back yet?"

"This Ghita," Guiseppe continued, not letting Francesco change the topic, "she must be doing her best, I'm sure. You should try to be a little nicer to your fans, my friend."

"Alright first off, Ghita Aryanne is the _opposite_ of a fan. Second, you have a bleeding heart, Guiseppe. More often than not it is one of the things I love about you, but on occasion it can be annoying. Like, right now for instance, when you're trying to make me feel for that cold-as-ice woman who does nothing but belittle me for fun and profit. I mean, listen! She is _still_ going on about that turn! **Be done with it already!"**

"… and that is all I have to say on the matter of Francesco's sloppy steering for the time being," Ghita said.

" **Thank you!** "

As if Ghita could hear Francesco's moaning and wanted to get the last word in, she added, "I can only hope Francesco takes the upcoming exhibition races and this Neo World Gran Prix a little more seriously than today's race."

Francesco opened his mouth to protest, finally started to realize how he looked shouting at a television set in front of several fans' cameras, and shut it. He decided instead to seethe quietly and go looking for the remote to change the channel himself.

"Thank you, Ghita," Ghita's co-host said. "Ghita Aryanne will be off until next racing season. In her place, we will bring you special guest commentators for exhibition matches. And now, in other sports news, this week's tireball games-"

Francesco finally got his wheels on the remote control, and decided to simply turn the television off for the remainder of the party.


End file.
